Wedding Crashers
by In Somnis Veritas
Summary: When an old lover and her new beau crashes King Alistair's wedding, a little bit of mischief and mayhem happens. f!Tabris/Anders, f!Tabris/Alistair. Rated M. On hiatus.
1. The Invitation

Title: Wedding Crashers

Full summary: Following the end of the Blight, Alistair became King of Ferelden, leaving his Warden lover behind. What's an elf to do after having her heart broken? Run off to Vigil's Keep and take up an insatiable, saucy apostate as a lover, of course. When Alistair's wedding day rolls around, f!Tabris is persuaded to attend. What will Alistair do seeing his former lover at the arms of a new suitor? Hilarity and jealous ensues. Set immediately after Awakening, before DA2.

Rated: M for mature language and explicit content.

A/N: Sometimes my imagination runs wild. I am incredibly partial to Awakening!Anders even though my LadyHawke romanced the hell out of him in DA2. I'd always imagined him to be a huge manwhore before Justice; what with the whole "that part of my life being over" bit. I mean, how could he not have been? Everyone in the Ferelden Circle was kissing everyone, and he has ridiculous boyish charm and wits. I bet he used to magick the robes off of any apprentice in between escaping the Circle seven times.

Anyways, some mild spoilers. For story's sake, Alistair was hardened but let's just say the wrong dialogue options were chosen. Cheers.

_Post script: _this piece is dedicated to all the players who rolled non-HNF, didn't get to become Queen, or hell, didn't stay as a mistress. I know you were all as pissed off as I was when he broke up with you.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Bioware does. I just borrow. Please enjoy.

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER ONE: THE INVITATION<strong>

_One year earlier..._

"So that's it?"

A blank stare came over her face; eyes watered, welling up at her waterline, but she refused to shed tears. He had never seen her so sad before. It hurt him to do this to her, after all she's been though already. After all _they_ had already been through.

"It's over? Just like that?"

Keira Tabris didn't stick around for his answer. Instead she pushed passed him storming out of the room and bumping into his shoulder without so much as a flinch. Those last words were deafening in his ears, echoing and repeating themselves, over and over again. It was maddening. Alistair felt like a fool. He wanted to turn around and wrap his arms around her pixie form. Wanted to apologize profusely and pathetically until she forgave him, and everything was alright again. But everything wouldn't be alright; it could never be after today. Instead he stood in his place, feet glued to the floor, balling his hands into tight fists until his knuckles turned white against the pressure of his grip. _It's over. Just like that_, he thought, regrettably, looking up at all their other companions with a saddened gaze. Out of all of them Wynne had the saddest look of them all.

**...**

_A year later, the wedding day_...

_Her eyes were piercing. They were staring straight through him, as if she didn't see him at all. As if he wasn't even there._

_He held his breath in wonder, studying every speckle of gold in her hazel-green eyes. Couldn't stop staring, no matter how hard he tried. Her hair was down. It was never down. A veil of blonde silk lay softly on her shoulders, cascading down her back in soft waves. He wanted to simply reach out and brush it aside, take hold of her and mark her on the small of her clavicle, as if she was still his. There was no time to react when she descended her lips upon his, capturing his mouth in a fervent and breathtaking kiss. Those soft lips were as sweet as he remembered. It had been a year since he'd touched them with his own, and he hungrily welcomed her sly tongue with parted lips and a moan, relishing in the taste of her._

_Alistair could feel her skin on his, so smooth and naked, unrealistically unmarred and unscathed from their many violent and bloody battles and misadventures. His tentative hand ran up the thighs that straddled him, fingers lightly feathering along the goosebump pebbled skin. As if he was afraid to touch her; that a move too abrupt or rough would cause her to dissipate in his arms, and he would be alone all over again. A small hand on his chest took all the air out of his lungs. He could feel his heart beating rapidly as her palm slide down his torso between their trembling bodies. And like a moth to a flame, his apparent arousal gravitated towards her molten heat. In a single swift motion, he sheathed himself into her and a soft moan against his lips encouraged him to move his hips, which he did so excitedly._

_They were now in the throes of passion, grinding into each other with steady rhythm and lustful abandon. Alistair hissed as the wet sensations enveloped him, reveling in her soft hum against the crook of his neck as she bore down on his hardened length with eager enthusiasm. Her hands gripped his shoulders, digging her fingernails into his skin, and drawing blood. So close now. He moaned, as he reached the precipice of undiluted sinful pleasure. __**So**__ close now. He longed to hear his name on her lips, to hear her scream it in ecstasy. Arms wrapped around her lithe pixie form, pulling her body closer to his as he reached his peak and fell over into hollow darkness._

Suddenly the warmth left him and his eyes flew open. Sweat dripped from his body and he gasped for air as if he'd been drowning. He was wrought with frantic distress as he shot up out of bed and searched all around his bedchamber. She was nowhere in sight and only blinding sunlight enveloped him. Alistair threw off the thick coverlet, scowling at the large wet spot in the center of the quilt. He threw his head backwards onto the plush pillows as he kicked the soiled blanket aside. She was gone. She was never there to begin with. It was all a dream, a fantasy of what once was and never will be. He was foolish to have believed otherwise. Groaning, Alistair swung his legs over his bed and sat upright. He felt sore on his joints, wrists, and ankles. Rubbing them, he wondered if he had slept funny last night. Come to think of it, he couldn't actually remember last night.

Alistair racked his brain, trying to remember what had happened the previous evening. He was drawing a blank. All he could remember was going down to the pub, and ordering a few drinks. He remembered meeting Zevran and Oghren too… and that was about it. Shaking his head, he ran his large hands through his disheveled hair and smoothed out wayward ruddy strands. There was a tentative knock at his door, and quickly he pushed aside his coverlet until it fell over the bed in a haphazard pile. Satisfied his shame had been masked, Alistair cleared his throat, beckoning the visitor at the door to come inside. It was a servant boy with a tray of tea and biscuits, obviously sent for him from either Eamon or Elissa for breakfast. The child's hands shook as he walked slowly towards the king, obviously afraid of doing or saying the wrong thing. Empathetic, Alistair waved the frightened child over, taking the tray from him with a warm smile. At that the boy seemed comforted and bowed deeply before leaving in a rush. This caused Alistair to chuckle at the retreating silhouette before raising the teacup to his lips. He drank greedily, undeterred by the fact that the scalding hot liquid burned his tongue and throat.

He barely had time to dig into the pastries before Eamon came storming in, with the groomsmen party in tow. Almost immediately, they pulled the king on his feet, snatching the biscuits away and pushing him out the door in hasty preparation for the day's events.

**...**

_Weeks earlier at Vigil's Keep...  
><em>

"Absolutely not!" the furious pixie yelled, throwing her arms in the air, and waving frantically around at her surroundings. She was being followed by a persistent Orlesian woman, who was yelling right back at her in response.

The Orlesian was none other than the bard Leliana, who groaned in frustration, trailing behind at the heel of her flustered Grey Warden friend, Keira Tabris. "And _why _not?" she scowled, raising an eyebrow. Shrill cries caught the attention of many nearby workers, who ceased what they were doing in order to eavesdrop. A stern look from the Commander though had them scurrying back to their tasks.

Keira rolled her eyes. As Warden Commander and Arlessa of Amaranthine, she had more important things to do than attend the royal wedding of some fool who had broken her heart a year earlier. However, the redhead thought otherwise, as Leliana quickened her pace and jumped in front of the irritated elf. Keira narrowed her eyes, unamused by her friend obstructing the path ahead of her. The Orlesian would not budge, crossing her arms menacingly across her chest, tapping her foot and waiting for a legitimate response.

The Commander let out a frustrated groan, turning away from the bard and stomping off on her small feet. She barked more orders for a troupe of workers to keep their workspace clean as the Orlesian picked up the pace once more to catch up to the angry elf. If Leliana wasn't going to move _out_ of the way, then Keira would simply walk _away_ from her instead.

"Look at this!" she yelled in exasperation, arms waving around at the busy construction work. "It's a mess here. I'm **not** going. The Keep _needs_ me!"

It was a lie. The Keep would be fine without her. The real reason she didn't want to go was because of Alistair. She most certainly didn't want to see him, must less see him get married to some prissy snob from Highever. He was a wound that was finally healing, and she wasn't about to have the stitches get pulled out without anesthesia, or at least half a bottle of Dragon's Piss already downed.

Leliana glanced around at the diligent workers busying themselves, surveying the construction work being done. The towering keep loomed over their heads. It looked ominous and dark. The fortress' stone wall was battered but still intact, thanks to Voldrik Glavonak. Several houses were being reconstructed or renovated, built up by hard work, skilled hands and smart wits alone. Many workers were carefully patching roofs, laying foundations, or discarding rubbish material. This was a far cry from the wreck Keira tried to make Vigil's Keep out to be. At last, the Orlesian bard shot the pixie elf an unconvinced look, narrowing her eyes at the shifty rogue who'd been caught in a lie. "Everything looks _fine_ to me. You'll only be gone a week. I am sure they'll survive without you."

Keira scowled at her friend from over her shoulders. She had given a weak excuse and she knew it, now she was upset Leliana had seen right through it. The redheaded bard ran ahead of her friend once more, blocking her path as she did before. She stood her ground this time, shifting to the left and then right, cutting off the angry elf from stomping past her again.

"Come on! It'll be fun! Even Oghren is coming and Zevran will be there too. _Please!_" The woman had a knack for shaming people. Perhaps she had picked it up from her time in the Chantry. Regardless, she definitely knew how to turn on the waterworks, widening her blue doe-eyes at Keira the way a child would when they wanted something they couldn't have.

She scoffed at first, "if _that_ is your idea of fun, I'd hate to think what you thought of the archdemon." But at last, Keira conceded to her pleading friend, hanging her head low and muttering almost incoherently, "I'll think about it."

Somehow this sounded more like "Yes! Absolutely! I most certainly will" to Leliana because the bard clapped her hands joyously in response. "_Magnifique!_" she exclaimed with a wide grin. Her eyes twinkled with all sorts of mischief as she skipped all the way towards her loaded carriage, talking aloud to herself excitedly about shoes and dresses and all sorts of ideas she had for Tabris.

"I'll see you at the estate in a few days! Don't worry about anything! I'll have your dress and shoes and jewelry ready when you arrive!" With that, Leliana pulled her heavy hood over her head and boarded the horse drawn vehicle. A whip snapped at the horses and she was on her way to Denerim, with the full expectation of seeing Keira there in the next few days.

She watched in disbelief as her friend skipped away. The Warden Commander suddenly smacked herself mentally. _O Maker, what in the bloody Void have I gotten myself into_. She could defeat an archdemon, slay a broodmother, but she couldn't say 'no' to a persistent Orlesian? Perhaps she had gone soft…

Keira was so lost in her thoughts she did not even notice Anders had snuck up from behind her, having taken an eyeful of the bard's _derrière _as she skipped away. _Shame she wasn't staying the night_, he thought to himself. _And such fantastic hips too._ He was grinning manically at this point, from ear to ear. After having watched their heated exchange from afar, he had deduced the bard probably would have been great in bed. Shame he wouldn't get the chance to find out. _Oh well._

He was certainly amused by their conversation at least. His Warden Commander was a fearless warrior-rogue, skilled on the battlefield with any dagger or sword at hand. She was always determined to complete every mission, task, or quest thrust upon her regardless if it came from the lowest of peasants to the highest of nobility. And that wasn't the only thing she was skilled with thrust upon her either. A throaty chuckle immediately brought Keira's attention to the mage standing aside her. She turned her head to him, slightly surprised by his sudden presence but quickly she narrowed her eyes. He simply gave her _that look_, the one where he was feigning innocence after having done or _thought_ of something terribly naughty. She didn't say anything though, now wasn't the best time for her to start probing into the mind of Anders, apostate mage and spirit healer extraordinaire. Instead she turned her body to face him.

"Good, you're already here, saves me the trouble of actually having to look for you." She was curt and matter-of-factly. He smirked in response, continuing to sustain his look of child-like innocence.

With a flick of her wrist she beckoned him to follow her, leading the both of them into the Keep and away from all the hustle and bustle of work. The pair walked through the iron gates of the fortress, into the lobby, across the throne room, and off into a side corridor towards the back wing of the Keep. They were silent in their journey through the winding hallways and spiral staircases, as if they already knew their destination. If it weren't for the positively giddy look on Ander's face, one would have thought the Commander was getting ready to skin him alive. She looked so sour compared to him.

At last she stopped, facing a particular door. She held out a hand, ushering Anders into the room. He did as he was ordered to and she followed suit, entering in after him. As soon as the door closed though, he pounced on her, slamming her lithe body against the hard wood, and devouring her mouth with his, kissing hungrily before she could make a sound. He pinned her against the door, one hand pulling her face towards his while another slipped around her waist, turning the lock and giving them security from prying eyes.

Her deft hands were fast at work, unclasping and untying his intricately assembled robes, rushing to push aside the heavy fabric in order to feel his skin on hers; to warm her cold touch against his hot flesh. At last they parted bruised lips, gasping for air. The separation did not last long though, as Anders swiftly dipped his head in between the crook of her neck, lapping along the patch of skin above her clavicle, running his wet tongue along her pulse. She hummed approvingly as he murmured something against her skin. The words were incoherent, not that she was in any state to make them out anyways. Lustfully, with a heavy shove, she pushed him away from her, shoving him deeper into the room and towards the canopy bed.

He cried out from the impact, stumbling backwards on uneasy footing a few paces before regaining his composure. She thought he looked delicious; skin flushed, hair disarray, robes disheveled, and chest bared. She loved it, lusted for it, and indulged in it far too many times to count. Her dirty little secret. Her self-medication. The one thing that kept her mind off of Alistair and the hole in her heart that he'd left. But enough about Alistair, she had thought too much of him for one day.

Licking her lips naughtily, she sauntered towards him. He welcomed her with open arms, taking her in for a much softer kiss. When they parted lips, he muttered once more, "What was all that about?" as he trailed kisses along her jaw and down her neck. She moaned softly, squirming against his touch, dismissing his question with a breathy response, "Oh nothing, just a wedding." The mage snaked both arms around her waist, turning her around until her back leaned against the post of their canopy bed. He ceased his kisses, smirking against her skin.

"Oooh. I _love_ weddings!" he exclaimed, mouthing the words into her neck, as his hands went up to untie the hair band that held her blonde mane in a bun. It fell onto her shoulders, stuck in a singular, tightly wound curl. His hands quickly ran through it, separating it as he cupped the back of her head to capture her lips in another impassioned kiss. His free hand now worked on the laces of her breeches, eager to get the garment off but her arms flew up once more to push him away. Frowning, he let go, pulling back his face from hers.

"It's _the_ Royal Wedding," she scowled.

At that, Anders laughed heartily. "Even better!" he exclaimed, taking hold of her shoulders to spin her around once more. This time, her back was to him, and she was pushed forward, hands bracing against the bedpost. He growled excitedly, whether for the wedding or for her, she wasn't quite sure. "Royal weddings are the _best_ weddings," he said, as he pressed the evidence of his arousal into her curved backside. She hissed at him, clutching the post with a vice grip when his hand reached over her shoulder and palmed her clothed breast roughly.

"You are going, right?" he asked, nonchalantly, as his other hand wiggled their way into her breeches. His hot breath tickled her ear sounding so certain, so sure. His comment startled her though, and she went rigid in his arms, unresponsive to his touch.

"Of course not. Why would I?" she replied, indignantly. Anders wasn't sure what he'd done to offend her, but he removed his hands and took a step back. He folded his arms across his broad chest, brows raised and face contorted into a confused look. She frowned in response, making a disgruntled face of her own. Finally, she cocked her head to the side and placed a hand on her hip in a defensive stance. "You _really_ think I should go?"

Anders nodded his head._ Yes_, he thought. Seemed like a perfectly sensible thing to do in his mind. Now it was her turn to cross her arms. She gave him a baffled look as if she didn't believe what she saw. "Really? Would you attend a former lover's wedding? Specifically one who tore your heart out and ate it for brunch?" She was being sarcastic of course. But if she was going to be sarcastic, he would be patronizing.

He grinned, devilishly, in response. Quickly, he closed the gap between them, taking her into his arms with a tight grip. In a swift motion he tossed her onto the bed like a rag doll and she landed on the plush mattress with a thud. In another swift motion, he was atop of her, one knee kneeling into the bed and arms at her side, blocking off any point of escape. Of course, she could just knee him where it hurt, but he was certain she wouldn't do that. Well… not one hundred percent certain, but it was a risk he was willing to take. She peered into his amber eyes with anger, which instantly melted when he devoured her lips once more in a hungry kiss. She reciprocated, wrapping both arms around his neck and pulling him in to her. Anders' arms gave and he laid himself next to her, dipping the bed with his weight, pulling her lithe pixie form to him. Finally parting, he smirked as she opened her eyes. "In a heartbeat," he whispered, as if it were just that simple. Just like that. _In a heartbeat._

Keira sighed, somewhat contently. It suddenly dawned on her that perhaps she was fighting a losing battle once more. First, Leliana was against her and now her lover was too? "Alright," she muttered, "But if I have to go, then you're coming with me." There was a look of determination on her face. A look he hadn't seen since she'd gutted the broodmother in half months earlier. It made her look all the more desirable, as he leaned in for another kiss, hands trailing down her side, eager to get all these clothes off.

"Even better," he breathed, looming closer to fill the gap between them. He'd never wanted to ravish her as much as he did right then and there.

But immediately a hand went up, pushing against his bare chest, pushing him away from her. She pulled away from him, creating an even larger space between his and her lips. He groaned in response, furrowing a brow out of curiosity. She simply disentangled herself from his limbs and began straightening up her clothes and hair. Anders rolled over onto his back, pushing himself up with his elbows in order to stare baffled at her as she ignored him.

"What?" he asked, wondering what else he'd done wrong this time?

Keira simply replied, "Well, if we're going, then you better start packing!"

At that she stormed off, unlocking the door and disappearing into the hallway, leaving him aroused and aching. Anders groaned painfully as he looked down at his hardened arousal, feeling abandoned. His means of gratification had just walked out the door, leaving him straining against his breeches and unsatisfied.

"Well… shit."


	2. The Preparation

**CHAPTER TWO: THE PREPARATION**

Alistair had never felt more like a puppet than today. It took four men to polish his armor. Four men at his hands and feet, rubbing smelly wax and oil into the specifically commissioned, intricate gold and silverite King's armor he was to wear for the wedding ceremony. Standing with arms outstretched and legs parted wide, the visibly bored king looked around the room aimlessly, looking for things to distract his attention from the vile smell under his nose. Little items, here and there, suddenly brought a memory to mind. The last time he'd been in this very room was after the Landsmeet, right before he was to speak with Keira about becoming king. Slowly the images of that day crept into his consciousness…

He remembered Eamon, pulling him aside afterwards, saying there was something urgent he needed to discuss. Alistair remembered the crackling of logs in the fireplace, the warm smell of wood burning, and the guttural feeling that something was terribly wrong as his sort-of-uncle locked and closed the door behind him. There used to be an antique furniture set in this room. Obviously it had been relocated elsewhere, but Alistair remembered vividly where it used to be because he could still remember vividly sitting on it.

Eamon had approached him with a solemn look on his face and two goblets of recently poured wine. He passed one to Alistair and kept the other in his hands. "For Ferelden," he proposed, raising the chalice to the newly crowned, slightly begrudged king. Alistair eyed the dark liquid with slight apprehension but he raised it slowly to his lips and took a sip, eyeing Eamon with earnest as he did so. The elder man wasted no time getting to business, placing the cup down on a nearby table. "Now… we have the matter of discussing an heir."

Alistair sputtered into his goblet, choking on a mouthful of wine as it went down his windpipe. As Eamon patted him on the back forcibly, he continued to speak as if nothing was the matter. "You have an obligation to this country, as King, to produce an heir to carry on the Theirin bloodline. Now considering the company you keep, I think you know where I am going with this, son." And Alistair felt helpless as he was led towards the velvet armchair for a long and somber conversation…

He sighed, realising the one time he should have stood up for himself had slipped away. Now, it was nothing more than a memory, like many things, and _people_ in Alistair's life. He had never felt more like a puppet than today. And today this puppet was getting married to a woman he sort-of liked but definitely did not love. The grandfather clock ticked obnoxiously loud in Alistair's ears as the hands ticked down the seconds.

…

_Meanwhile…_

Pudgy hands were all over her; in her hair, poking her side, at her feet, and yelling Orlesian things she did not quite understand well. Keira Tabris, Grey Warden Commander had never had so many people attending to her all at once. Even on _her_ wedding day it had just been her and her cousin, Shianni. This was something else entirely. This was the work of an Orlesian madwoman. Pudgy fingers were pulling pins and needles from her gown while she tried her best to stand still, arms outstretched at her sides. Her nose itched and she kept twitching it, wiggling it back and forth, scrunching her face in a sour look, which the seamstresses did not approve of. If she tried to scratch it though, about a thousand or so pins would probably prick her side and she'd bleed to death. _Hm_, that didn't sound so bad now that she thought of it, feeling once more the dread of today's events.

_How did I manage to get myself in this predicament?_ She'll never know, but she was content on blaming one person for all this mess: Leliana, Orlesian bard extraordinaire. This was all her fault. She cursed the woman under her breath, sighing out of boredom and frustration as the women tended to her gown with care. A slight shift in her footing brought about a sharp prick to her side. She immediately let out a stifled hiss in pain. The seamstress simply scowled from behind her and swatted the elf on the backside with her chubby hand. "Hold still!" she barked, thick with an accent, pulling out the pin that had stabbed her side moments earlier. Keira groaned, biting her lower lip in order to restrain herself from cursing the woman.

As the handmaidens continued on their work, Leliana walked out of an adjoined chamber, still trying to clasp on her gold plated earrings onto her pierced earlobe. Keira could not even turn her head to greet her, lest the hairdresser mess up the delicate curls she was setting into the blonde's long tresses. "Oooh Keira, you look so _lovely!_" the bard cooed as she walked over to a nearby mirror, gazing with admiration at the reflection in it. Keira however, could not see herself from such an angle, so the bard shimmied and pushed the full length stand across the room for her.

A small smile began to curl on the corners of the pixie's mouth. She did have to admit, she looked pretty… _good_ from what she could tell. Suddenly, she felt grateful to Leliana for all the help she was giving her. Keira couldn't have possibly put together this ensemble without her friend's help. The bard had returned from Orlais weeks earlier with an assortment of gowns and shoes for the occasion, allowing the elf to roam freely through her trunks and closet to pick out a dress to wear. The dress she had picked out was a simple black silk gown. Even though the bard tried to coax her into something more colorful, she was determined to wear this black one. Why black though? Because it felt more appropriate for the situation. It may have been Alistair's wedding, but it was the official funeral of their relationship in her mind. Besides, it wasn't _that_ plain. It was interesting in its own way; an unusually cut dress, with no sleeves or straps, only ruched fabric wrapped around her upper chest. Leliana called it an empire silhouette and it seemed to be held up by sheer determination alone. That and by the braided gold-coloured cord tied under her bust too. It was looped several times around by the handmaiden, who fastened the excess cord and tassels into a small tie behind her back. The silk clung to her curves, slimming her already lithe figure. And yet she still felt lost in the billowing, loose skirt. Glancing up and down at her reflection, she admired the simplicity of the gown on her figure, eyeing with keen interest at the elaborate golden embroidery at the skirt's hem.

It was nice, she thought, smiling inwardly. She was definitely glad she'd chosen this one over the pink poofy frock Leliana had suggested last night. Her eyes lingered a little more at her reflection, mindlessly sitting down as the bard placed a high stool chair behind her. The seamstress had left after tying the cord, satisfied with the alternations she had spent the whole previous evening working on. Keira did not even notice when Leliana had grasped her foot to put on her shoes because the sound of sizzling reached her pointed ears and she smelt something burning.

"Madam! Please!" she heard Leliana chide from beneath her. "Pay attention!" Keira soon realized the sizzling came from atop her head, where the hairdresser had been curling her hair with a heated metal rod. Before she could open her mouth to say anything though, she felt the cool feeling of smooth satin slide across the bottom of her foot. Immediately her gaze turned downwards towards her feet, where Leliana had been kneeling. In her moment of oblivious vanity distracted by that blasted mirror, the bard had managed to get on and strap up a high-heeled stiletto shoe to the Warden Commander's foot.

She managed to protest in time before the bard could trap the other foot in the weapon-shoe contraption, leaping to her feet and sending the hairdresser in a fit as the heated rod slipped out of the partially set curl, burning the woman slightly on her pudgy fingers. Leliana rose from her kneeling position, shoe in hand, and frown on her face as Keira hobbled backwards from her, bumping into the stool, and backing away from her friend.

"These are shoes? Really. Leliana. Really? You expect me to actually walk in these?"

…

Anders stared at his reflection in the mirror with smug admiration for his dapper appearance. He enjoyed the smooth feel of the teal satin fabric against his skin, clinging to his statuesque build. Playful fingers ruffled the black feathers of his spaulders with a small chuckle. Glossy and smooth, he thought. The new robes were courtesy of his Commander's gracious salary and overwhelming need to have a handsome date at her arms that evening. He didn't mind being used though. In fact, it had been all his idea anyways, taking credit for the one who'd persuaded her to attend the festivities to begin with. And it wasn't like he wasn't using her either… mostly for sexual gratification and sometimes conversation and company, but eventually their 'relationship' would prove useful should he ever find himself in a compromising situation, aside from the one she'd gotten him out of with Rylock and all that. Regardless, Anders loved to play games more than anything. They were mostly harmless; he mused. It's not like he ever hurt someone physically or maliciously. It's just after so many years on the run, he'd learn to take life less seriously. Now, even more since it had been recently shortened what with becoming a Grey Warden and all.

A hand flew up from his side to cover his mouth stifling a long yawn. He rubbed the grogginess from his eyes and once more inspected the clasps and buckles of his robe, readjusting for the umpth time the golden sash that cinched his waist. He had to admit, he looked _good_ in these Tevinter robes, grinning toothily at his reflection and going as far as winking to himself too. The hand that covered his mouth soon ran along his slightly stubbled jawline, rubbing the short hair bristles against his large palm. He contemplated shaving, as he peered closely into the mirror. But before he could make up his mind, Nathaniel Howe had barged into his room, distracting him from the task at hand. He looked absolutely giddy and only slightly horrified. A large grin graced his lips while his eyes slanted with nervousness.

"You've _got_ to see this," he simply said, walking right back out and disappearing into the hallway.

Interest piqued, the mage hurried out of his room to follow the archer down the corridors towards the ladies' chambers. He heard some muffled yelling as he reached closer. It was his Commander and that Orlesian going at it again. Oh, how he blissfully fantasized about them both… in bed… He didn't even bother hiding his cheeky grin as he cracked open the bedchamber door. The sight before him elicited a roar of laughter from deep within.

…

"They are _all_ the rage in Orlais this season," the redhead pleaded once more. She was standing at one end of the room, holding a golden shoe in one hand and crossing the other. Or rather, what Anders thought looked like a shoe. A weapon perhaps? Both? There was a long pointed stiletto heel on the shoe-weapon contraption in the Orlesian's hand. Anders was certain if Keira walked over anyone with those, she'd leave puncture marks in her track. This caused another fit of laughter to erupt from the amused mage.

The Commander, however, was unamused, hobbling around with one shoe on and one bare foot, hiding from her friend on the other side of the room. "They are a death trap! You cannot possible think they are safe to walk in!" she exclaimed, with a pained look on her face.

But before Leliana could speak up, Anders chimed in with his two sovereigns. "Oh come on Commander. You _are_ pretty quick on your feet. I reckon you'll do fine on those." Nathaniel was cowering behind him, but he giggled at the comment, glad Anders shielded him should the furious pixie decide to chuck anything heavy at the door.

Keira snapped her head, turning to face Anders with a scowl. She glared daggers at him, shaking her pointer finger at him furiously. "Who asked you what you thought anyways, Anders?"

Distracted by the mage's sudden presence, Leliana quickly closed the gap between her and her friend, cornering the elf into a chair and snatching her other foot to shove into the strappy shoe. This struggle between the two women had Anders grinning like a child in a candy shop as he titled his head slightly to see his Commander wiggling under the bard's dexterous and quick touch. Only he could possibly turn such a situation into a sexual fantasy. A sad sigh escaped his lips, as his twinkling eyes met Keira's angry ones. He simply shrugged his shoulders at her snide comment.

"Nobody did, but if you want my opinion, I'd also suggest wearing your hair down too. It's not too often you let… _loose_," and with that, a large elaborate silverite hair brush was forcibly flung his way. He ducked, just in time, missing the object by mere centimeters, but letting it smack Nathaniel squarely in the nose. "Ow!" the Howe yelped, hands holding his bruised face, praying to merciful Andraste that it wasn't broken or bleeding.

Anders poked his head back into the room, quickly waving goodbye before grabbing the wounded Howe and escaping towards their chambers. He could hear Leliana's throaty laugh all the way down the corridor. She agreed with his suggestions, fingers twirling the elf's curled hair. Keira was angry now, sitting down with her arms crossed, cheeks puffed up and skin flushed red like a child during a temper tantrum. Leliana only laughed harder at her friend's stubbornness, muttering "I like him," as she picked up the thrown hairbrush from the floor. The shocked hairdresser quickly rushed over, finishing the rest of the hair styling as Leliana rummaged around in a small leather pouch.

Once her hair was completely done, the handmaiden pushed the long locks to one side, securing it with a golden hair clip in a sleek side ponytail hanging over her left shoulder. Leliana came back soon after with an assortment of miscellaneous items in her hands. She sighed contently looking at her dressed-up friend, handing her a small hand held mirror to peer into. The pixie eyed her reflection once more, feeling her anger subside, and admiring the shininess of her hair set in loose curls. She'd never see her hair so shiny before. A tentative hand reached up to touch them.

"So pretty," Leliana cooed, placing a reassuring hand on her friend's bare shoulder. She gave it a light comforting squeeze, smiling as she did so. "He's a smart one, that Anders."

Keira smirked, nodding her head at the comment. She wouldn't normally prefer him to be right but of course he was. She continued to stare at her reflection as Leliana pulled out some pieces of jewelry from a small velvet bound box. Her quick hands clasped a thin chain bracelet onto the hand that held the mirror before moving up to clip on large golden hoop earrings through her ear lobes. As each piece of jewelry came on, Keira felt a little more internally uncomfortable with her appearance. Sure, on the outside she looked good, but she didn't feel _quite_ like herself in this skin. This wasn't her; it was a costume for an event she didn't even want to attend. But she couldn't say that to her excited friend. It had made her so happy to share such a moment between them, just the two of them, after everything they'd been through. Keira sighed once more, offering a small smile as she peered up at the Orlesian woman's warm face.

At that moment Leliana had a large badger-hair cosmetic brush inching towards the horrified elf. In her hand was a small compact of pink rouge and behind her on the vanity table top was an assortment of other cosmetics. _O Maker no!_ she thought once more, as the fluffy brush attacked her cheekbones, eliciting an involuntary giggle that echoed the whole estate.

…

The two male Wardens stood waiting outside the entrance. The wedding ceremony was due to start in less than an hour and the ladies still hadn't come out. Nathaniel busied himself, pacing back and forth and petting the large horses drawing the carriage. One had taken rather quickly to him, rubbing its long head into the man's chest as he stroked its brown mane. Anders on the other hand simply leaned against the painted carriage, flicking small sparks of fire from his hands onto the cobblestone pavement. Embers sizzled in the air, flying out of his hand and extinguishing on the dirt. After some time with the Wardens, he was unabashed about showing off his magic skills in public. Hiding behind the clout of the Grey definitely had its benefits, even if he did occasionally have to go down into the Deep Roads. The blonde mage let out an exasperated sigh, as Nathaniel ceased his petting of the animal and walked over to him.

"What could possibly be taking them _soooo_ long?" he whined, leaning against the carriage right next to Anders.

The affectionate horse neighed loudly, perturbed by the sudden lack of attention, but it shook its head and quieted itself in minutes. Anders grinned toothily at the archer, turning to face him. "Did you _not_ see the Commander?" he asked, implying how much work and effort it probably took to scrub down and polish the unusually rough-around-the-edges seasoned warrior-rogue. "The bath alone must have taken hours," he laughed, throwing his head back slightly.

Nathaniel paused for a moment, pondering on what Anders had said before raising an eyebrow and tilting his head to the side slightly. "Hm," A small chuckle escaped his lips. "You're right," he conceded, resuming his petting of the horses. This time, they didn't seem too interested in his attention. Another small chuckle erupted from the usually broody archer. "So, how was your evening at Pearl last night?"

But before Anders could answer that question, the sound of heels clicking against the cobblestone caught their attention. The front entrance doors had swung open and two women had stepped out, walking towards them. Immediately, all talking between the two Wardens ceased as they gazed upon the approaching women with awe. Leliana, the ever so graceful bard was donning a royal plum frock, of Orlesian fashion, of course. It was of lace and satin, with a high collar and sleeveless. Her normally loose red hair was tied back in a simple Orlesian twist. Little silverite flower hairclips held the hairstyle in place. Upon her agile feet were similar strappy shoes, just as tall as the ones she forced her elven friend into.

The salacious way their hips swayed in those heels had Anders' mouth slightly agape and positively drooling at this point. Nathaniel was no better, yet he didn't look quite as put together as Anders did in his surprise, looking more like a deer caught in headlights. The light laugh that emitted from the nervous elf brought Anders' attention back to reality, as he nudged the archer beside him to shut his mouth. The stumbling nobleman immediately held out an arm in order to help the bard into the carriage. Anders did the same, offering his assistance, but lightly grasped the pixie's forearm instead, pulling her to the side away from the others.

Leliana protested from within the painted carriage, but her cries fell upon deaf ears as the mage dragged the elf off to the side behind a patch of shrubbery and out of earshot. Surprisingly, she did not stumble once on those treacherous shoes. He smirked at himself, obviously having been right about her acute ability to be quick on her feet, even in nearly four-inch stiletto shoes. Satisfied with their privacy, the mage pulled the perturbed pixie to face him. She scowled, as she usually did when he was being cryptic or mischievous – which is usually always. "What?" she huffed, placing her small hand on her hip.

His grin quickly stretched from ear to ear, and yet he couldn't stifle a laugh that crept up. This only served to infuriate her more as she asked once again, even more curt than usual, "I said, what?" obviously annoyed with his mysterious behavior.

Anders leaned in close to her face and spoke in but a whisper. "I can see the line of your smalls through that frock."

Eyes widened in horror at those dreaded words. Soon the lithe woman began frantically spinning herself in slow circles as she tried to peer behind her shoulders and see this supposed smalls line Anders mentioned. He was lying of course, but she couldn't possibly know that since she was still turning around in frustrated circles in front of him. At last, she gave up, groaning in more discomfort as she placed a hand on his shoulders to brace herself. One leg lifted, crooked at the knee, while her other hand rucked up the excess fabric of her skirt. It slipped under the black silk and re-emerged with her smallclothes hooked neatly by her thumb. The slight squeeze of his shoulder in her hands sent a small shiver down his spine. He was grinning manically again, unable to restrain himself from being giddy, having tricked her into removing her smalls. Once they were successfully off, she crumpled the black lace in her hands and shoved it neatly into one of the side pockets of Anders' robes.

"There? Better?" she released him, stood firmly on her own two feet, and spun in a slow circle in front of him, waiting for his approval. The naughty mage simply wolf whistled and nodded his head up and down. This earned him another scowl but he simply turned his wolfish grin into _that look_ and she shook her head once more. Taking his hand in hers, she dragged him out from behind the shrubbery and towards their waiting taxi. They scuttled quickly, knowing Leliana must be annoyed with their delay. Upon boarding, the coachman's whip snapped, sending the carriage in motion with a small lurch. Meanwhile Keira pulled on her hooded cape, carefully draping the hood over her newly styled hair. Leliana chatted excitedly about the ceremony and all the gossip she acquired during her stay, while Nathaniel sat looking uncomfortable next to her. All the while, impure thoughts flooded into the mage's mind as he thought of new and exciting ways to exploit his lover's newly… exposed vulnerability. He didn't even notice her hand still clutched his, entwining their fingers together.

It wasn't until Nathaniel called his name several times did he finally pull his mind out of the gutter.

"Anders, I said, how was your evening last night at the Pearl?"

Keira turned to him, cocked her head slightly to the side with a smirk graced upon her lips. "Yes Anders, how _was_ your evening last night at the Pearl?"

Chuckling nervously, Anders ran his free hand up his neck, scratching at the nape as he shifted his gaze between the archers and his Commander.

"Heh. About that…"

* * *

><p><span>AN: First all, thanks so much for the reviews and for all those who are following. Makes me giddy on the inside. Sorry for all the anachronisms if they bothered you. Medieval wear is gorgeous but I've got a penchant for red-carpet fashion. I also apologize for any grammatical or spelling mistakes. I don't have a beta!


	3. The Ceremony

**CHAPTER THREE: THE CEREMONY**

The carriage ride to the palace was a short one, even though it felt like an eternity. Keira kept silent the whole ride, no matter how much Leliana tried to coax her to speak. Their taxi kept to the main roads mostly. Its coachman was fearful of the thugs and thieves lurking in the dark shadows of back alleys and side roads. Not that the passengers weren't all capable against a few street thugs, but the coachman wasn't about to take any chances. When they had arrived at the palace doors, the vehicle stopped abruptly, startling its passengers inside and sending them forward with a slight lurch. Outside were the large wooden oak doors leading into the royal palace. They were adorned with floral wreaths and purple satin ribbons; pried wide open to welcome guests into its equally richly decorated grand hall. Many noblemen and women were congregated in the lobby room, some slowly filing into the smaller double doors leading into the grand hall where the Landsmeet once took place. Bells chimed from the tower above them, signaling the hour and the start of the wedding ceremony.

Nathanial Howe stepped out first, ever the gentleman to assist Leliana as she climbed down the small steps of the taxi, her dress' hemline bunched up in hand as to not touch the ground. The last thing she wanted was to snag her dress on her shoes or the carriage doors, especially after all the work they took to prepare for the occasion. Once safely on the ground on her two feet, she accepted Nathaniel's arm, looping hers with his as he led them towards the palace doors where many people were filing into. The redheaded bard turned her head around partially, to witness Anders assist the pixie elf out of the carriage herself. She received a reassuring smile from them both and muttered something over her shoulders to the pair, "I'll save seats for you two inside!" With that they disappeared into the crowds of colourful frocks and noble attire, leaving their companions behind, simply standing there.

Not wanting to budge or move, Keira Tabris stood in her spot for a moment, which turned into more than a few minutes. The time ticked by as more and more people entered the hall, emptying out the lobby foyer. The pixie stood where she stood, even as their carriage rode away and the nobles and guests slowly trickled into the hall. Anders stayed diligently by her side, recognizing the impact the situation may be having on her. He was ready to go when she was, and not willing to push the subject if she weren't. But Keira stood her ground, staring up at the large fortress of a palace, glancing over the assortment of floral arrangements, and ignoring the awkward stares she received from passing by guests. No doubt they were perturbed by her dark attire and ominous hood covering her face. She could hear hushed whispers and speculations, and had they seen the look on her face, they would have met glaring eyes.

As she pulled the hood closer to her face, Anders could tell she was nervous, though he couldn't really fathom why. Sure, the was some awkwardness expected, maybe even a little despair watching a former lover get married, but this was anxiety that was beyond that. All he could do was furrow his brow, glance at her and glance at the doors. They stood there for some time until the bells stopped chiming and all the nobles had cleared the lobby, leaving it empty and bare but richly decorated nonetheless. Even the stragglers and latecomers who'd pulled up their carriages beside them hurried in, all the while the two Wardens simply stood there staring. Eventually Anders spoke, clearing his throat in hopes of eliciting some sort of words or reaction out of his Commander. When he received none, he reached for her petite hand, grasping her small one in his large palm and entwining their fingers together. When she still did not respond, Anders definitely knew something worse must have been gnawing at her, so he pulled lightly at her arm, and steered them in a direction away from the foreboding doors and towards town.

"Where are we going?" a soft voice spoke, sounding more like an inquiry rather than a protest. Anders did not reply. So instead, she allowed herself to be taken away and it became very clear that the mage was taking them towards the nearest pub. She didn't ask the question again – he'd clearly read her mind. Her throat itched with thirst. It itched for something burning and numbing.

…

Alistair knelt at the front of the grand hall before the Grand Cleric, tense with solemn tenacity as she and her choir sang verses from the Chant of Light to the harmonic symphony played by an Orlesian orchestra Eamon had the privilege of hiring for the wedding. Bells chimed for what seemed like hours, indicating the time of day and start of the ceremony. From outside, he could tell the sun was still high in the sky, its bright beams shining through the tall stained glass windows of the grand hall. It was a beautiful day for such a beautiful occasion but he did not turn his gaze to watch the guests file inside, taking their seats in preparation to watch him vow his life away to a sweet but foreign woman. No, he resolved to stare at the ground, knelt and in prayer for the Maker to give him strength for what was to come.

…

Entering the small pub, the two were clearly overdressed for such a dinky establishment, but regardless they sat down at a small table in the corner and ordered drinks; a mug of ale for Anders and the strongest liquor they had in stock for Keira. Once the bar maiden approached the table, the pixie wasted no time whisking the glass out of the woman's hand before she even got the chance to sit it down, and polishing off the drink in one instant gulp. Anders eyed the elven woman curiously, raising an eyebrow as he sipped lightly at his ale. He was caught by surprised, never really pegging her as a drinker for one. And for second, having never seen his superior so stressed. The women slew archdemons and broodmothers, and yet bells and flowers had her so shaken up? He simply didn't understand.

Keira merely shrugged off the inquiring look he shot her, waving over her shoulder for another drink. Turning back to face Anders, he still had that look on his face, begging a question for her to answer.

"What?" she asked, curtly, not used to being under such scrutiny. At that he chuckled. Of course she would be defensive but how clueless was she? He shook his head, taking another sip of his ale before placing the mug back down on the table. That chuckle irked her. Who was _he_ to laugh at _her? _Perturbed now, she turned her whole body to face him, asking more angrily than she had intended.

"What?"

He chuckled again, this time replying to her question with another one of his own. "Why are you so nervous?" he asked in an eerily calm voice. "There's no reason an old lover should have you, mighty Hero of Ferelden, so shaken up. Even if he is king and all."

When her drink arrived, she took care to savor it; relishing in the numbing burn that coated her tongue and throat as the whiskey travelled down to settle the butterflies flapping in her stomach. She shrugged her shoulders at the question, deliberately avoiding it with another sip of her spirit. At that, Anders snatched the glass out of her small hands and pushed it aside, away from arm's reach. He stared at her hard, unrelenting until she answered him. "You put him on the bloody throne. _He_ should be the one afraid of you."

She blinked several times at him, surprised he had become so brazen. Unsure of how else to reply, she concede to a singular sentence that encompassed it all.

"I _**hate**_ weddings."

How cryptic. It didn't explain anything at all, causing Anders to furrow his brow and stare at her in silence until she gave a more appropriate answer. They sat like that for many moments; him staring quizzically at her, and she taken aback. After what seemed like an eternity passing, the bar maiden came back with another round of alcohol for them both but before Keira could take her glass, Anders had snatched that one away too; pushing it aside on the table to join her half full one.

Flushed with anger now, the Commander glared at her subordinate, ready to unleash a triad of swear words and curses. But before she could, Anders held up a flat palm up to silence her. Calmly, infuriatingly, he asked once more, "but why?"

He looked so light and airy, as if nothing serious ever touched him. She felt disconcerted, placing her trembling hands flat onto the table top to brace herself. Perhaps this was bigger than Alistair; perhaps there was more to the story than she had led on. Anders leaned into, as she opened her mouth to explain. He listened intently as a good friend should, placing a reassuring hand atop of hers, pursuing her to explain.

"Because the last wedding I attended was my own."

His hand gave hers a slight squeeze, but his jaw dropped part way in surprise. He refrained from commenting though, as she continued on in her explanation, staring blankly at their hands and not at him.

"We – my fiancé and I, were betrothed. It was arranged marriage, like many in the Alienage. I'd never met him before that day, but… during the ceremony, my cousin and I were kidnapped, along with several other women."

Anders did not stop her as her hand slipped out of his own, reaching over him for her whiskey. Once more she resolved to single shot gulps, finishing the first drink off and nursing the second one in her worried hands. Well this certainly wasn't the explanation he had expected, but he was determined to set things right. He reached once more for her, prying the vice grip from the glass and holding the small palm tightly in his own. Nervously and delicately he asked, "So… you were married?" That came out more awkward than he had intended.

"No," she explained, calmly, still staring at her hands. "Only betrothed. The Bann's son, Vaughan, came before the ceremony took place and took us away… us girls."

He gulped thickly, sensing where this story was heading towards. All he could do was squeeze her hand in the most comforting gesture he could offer, feeling foolish in his misconception of the situation.

"Nelaros, that was his name, came to save us. He was cut down by a guard." A dark look fell over her face, hardening her already sharp facial features. Her stare was blank, as if she were reminiscing. "I'll never forget the look on his face – so happy to see me alive right before the blade cut through him… he barely knew me. We'd only just met."

It had been over a year since she'd thought of that day. Given the circumstances, she hadn't really been given the appropriate time to grieve. Shianni's situation, her conscription, Ostagar, Alistair, the Landsmeet, Alistair again, the archdemon, etc. All she could do was laugh bitterly as the memories flooded her thoughts, unloaded pent up grief and anger begging to be drowned out by more alcohol and spirits.

"Barely knew me, only just learned my name. Know what he said to me? Told me he'd spend the rest of his life learning how to make me happy."

Silent sobs wrecked through her, accompanied by bitter laughter, piquing the interests of other patrons who were staring over their shoulders. She ignored them and Anders watched her intently, allowing her to mourn for the time being. He didn't say anything – perhaps because he knew nothing he could say would matter. Instead he sipped at his drink, keeping his hand atop of hers, squeezing it slightly every so often to comfort her as she wept a little under the guise of her hood. He could tell there were tears as the handkerchief she pulled out from under the darkness was stained with kohl and teal.

After finishing her third drink, Keira pushed aside the empty glasses, reaching for her clutch purse to retrieve some money for the beverages. But Anders, feeling the urge to be a gentleman, stopped her and pulled out a satchel of his own money. He dropped the sovereigns onto the table top and she shot him a pointed look, sniffling as she gathered her items.

"Rule number four, no courting. I can pay for my own drinks," she simply said.

At that Anders laughed as he got up from his seat. He brushed off the dust from his backside, holding out an arm for her to hold should she choose to take it. "Tonight, I think we are breaking all the rules."

Keira couldn't help but chuckle, shaking her head at the idea. As she got up from her stool she reached for him; holding onto his hand as he tugged her onto her wobbly, tipsy feet. Superficially, she dusted off her gown too before peering up at Anders with a grateful look. There was no more time to stall, she thought, as she made her way to towards the door. "Alright, let's get this over with."

Confused, he followed her. It was his turn now to be dragged out the door and into the unknown. "But we're already late," he protested, "The ceremony is probably half way done."

She grinned at him, mischievously, glassy eyes flashing as if she had a devious plan. "S'alright. I know another way in."

…

The wedding procession was a spectacle. All twelve of her bridesmaids came down the aisle, adorned in peach-coloured frocks, tugging along every notable nobleman in all of Ferelden. Alistair could see Eamon from the corner of his eye, wearing his most regal and proud smile as he watched the women keenly parade themselves in front of all the guests, Isolde standing near him with a look of pure discomfort on her worn face. When the procession reached him at the foot of the altar, they bowed graciously low to the ground before splitting off; the men at his side and the women at what would be his bride's. Teagan stood behind Alistair, next to Eamon and Isolde, looking mournful; he was sure this whole fiasco was taking a toll on his sort-of-nephew.

At last the wedding march chimed, played by the Orlesian orchestra off to the side. Their melodic hymn echoed in the large hall, enrapturing the attention of everyone but Alistair. His eyes were travelling everywhere but the main doors, which opened to reveal a stunning bride in a princess ball gown encrusted with gemstones. The size of the skirt alone was three times her width. He was certain people could create a shelter and live in it. Her whalebone corset laced atop the lace bodice cinched in her waist and pushed up her cleavage, accentuating her curvaceous figure. The lace train itself was several tens of feet long, held by two handmaidens to keep taut as the bride slowly wafted down the velvet aisle towards her soon to be husband and King. She was beautiful, moving many guests to tears.

But Alistair felt nauseous at the sight of her, butterflies flipping in his stomach. He could not keep his eyes on her for fear that he would vomit if he did. Instead, he quickly scanned the room in a vain hope of locking eyes with the one person he'd longed to see since the invitations went out weeks earlier. She was nowhere in sight, he thought, sadly. Instead, he quickly spotted Leliana, sitting next to Oghren, who was sitting next to Zevran, who sat next to two empty seats. For who, he could not tell, but the comforting smiles of his companions was enough to settle some of the worry clogging his mind. He smiled weakly at them, feeling soothed but not quite comforted.

Thus, he turned his gaze elsewhere as his bride slowly inched towards him and the altar. There was someone else he was keen to see, someone he knew could potentially set his mind at ease. Slowly, he turned his gaze away from his blushing bride to find Wynne sitting with the other mages and Greagoir. Wynne, with her warm face, and smiling lines crinkled with reassurance and pride as she beamed at him. She'd always been so sweet, so motherly to him; she of all people could calm him and soothe his anxiety. The smile on her face was warm and full of pride as she watched him stand there, fidgeting in nervousness. If her faith in him could be so unwavering, perhaps he was underestimating himself and his abilities. Perhaps he could do this after all. With newfound confidence, Alistair straightened his posture and finally placed his gaze towards his soon-to-be wife.

She really was stunning in her ivory gown; excessive but stunning for sure, as she walked the long aisle towards Alistair. Elissa was going to be the darling bride of Ferelden. Her family was of noble blood, an esteemed lineage of war heroes and diplomats. Yes, this was going to be a successful union. Eamon couldn't have found a better match for Alistair, short of having a daughter of age himself. But this would be a political union, nothing more. Musing over the gloomy thought, Alistair gulped thickly as the regal woman approached him. Just a political union, he thought, mournfully. He never wanted this – this responsibly but now that he had it, he couldn't just throw it away. He wondered if he'd grow to love her, if not he could admire her at least for being thrown into this role alongside him…

…

Alistair was so deep in thought, he failed to notice two late comers to the ceremony. Two shadowy figures maneuvered silently between seated guests up in a higher balcony, settling into empty seats in the back row. Their position offered a perfect view of the altar and couple; a sight slowly settling into Keira's mind's eye. The pixie elf pulled her hood closer to her face, not wanting her presence to be known, at least not just yet. And if for some Maker forsaken reason she started crying again, she wasn't about to let Anders or Andraste forbid, Alistair see such a sight.

The king's eyes were fixated on his bride. He hadn't noticed when they walked in, chided by disgruntled guests and shushed by the irate. His gaze was engrossed on the poised and majestic woman standing before him. Of course he would, as he should be, she bitterly thought. Anders sensing her tense up next to him, reached over her lap for her hand once again, taking the small palm into his own, entwining their fingers tightly together. Normally, he wasn't so affectionate towards her. Well, he _was_ affectionate, just in his own different way. But this was not the nature of their relationship, to be so comfortable and public.

Their relationship had no title, no definition. He was a man too flighty and impulsive to be considered a reliable or dependable partner. Sure, the only thing he was reliable or dependable for was a good roll in the hay, not that she minded. After Alistair, she hadn't been looking for love anymore, having completely given up on the notion when he supposed obligation to the crown was more important than their relationship. It was easier for her to find something else to fill the hole in her heart and Anders was more than happy to oblige when she invited him to do just that. After all, she was a pretty girl, offered him a home, gave him work, and he did get to shoot lightening at fools once in a while. It was a great trade-off in their minds, no strings attached, this 'friends with benefits' relationship of theirs.

But today was different. Today, Anders felt obligated to be more than a 'booty call' for his friend and Commander. Because after all, in spite of what _they_ are, she was still considered and valued as a friend and confidante to him. Today, he would be someone else, someone reliable and dependable, and someone she could lean on should she want to. She deserved that at least, for all she's done for him, he thought, as his fingers squeezed hers tightly. Together they watched the regal pair exchange golden rings in their vows. Keira didn't fight it, didn't recoil at his silent gesture to be there for her. She needed it, as evident by the equally tight squeeze her hand reciprocated.

Anders heard a little rustle under her hood, handing her a spare handkerchief from his pocket. She had already ruined the good one back at the pub, but he brought spares just in case. Without a word, she took it and for the second time that evening, it disappeared under the excess fabric of her hood. Re-emerging wet and stained with more kohl, he was surprised to hear a low laugh accompanying it. Turning to her, surprised, he could visibly see she was shaking, not out of misery but stifled laughter.

"Leliana is going to murder me. She spent an hour on my makeup alone, and I am laughing so hard, I'm crying!"

Anders chuckled; first, glad she was being humorous and second, surprised at her unusual reaction. He wasn't about to complain though; beats having to sit awkward like before when she was spilling her guts about her botched wedding day. She shot him a small smile, which he barely made out under the shadows of her hood. A light squeeze of his hand reassured him of her light mood and the pair turned their attention back onto the newlyweds, still reciting their vows. This only caused her to laugh all the more harder, garnering annoyed looks from the guests surrounding them. She didn't care though, focusing her attention on the nervous and uncomfortable looking man at the altar, relishing in the idea that this ceremony was akin to torture to him.

…

"With this ring, I thee wed."

Standing at the altar, everything around him seemed to disappear. All he could see were the warm amber eyes of his bride, looking at him with such reverence, he felt guilty over his shame and insecurities. _I can do this, I __**have**__ to do this_, he resolved, pursing his lips tight as the last of his vows escaped his breath. His hand covered hers, which she seized immediately, reassuring him with light squeezes and small smiles on her innocent face streaked with tears of joy.

"You may kiss the bride."

Words deafening to his ears, he stared at the Grand Cleric stunned for a moment. _Did she really just say that?_ He wondered, but his body moved on it owns accord, leaning his face into Elissa's hopeful one. His shaky hands lifted her lace veil, and cupped her cheeks to bring her lips closer. And just like that he placed a chaste peck upon her, causing the blushing bride to snake her arms around his neck and pull him deeper in for something more passion fueled. Taken aback, his body once more responded on its own accord, opening his mouth to welcome her warm tongue.

The crowds around them roared, cheering energetically at the newlyweds. Alistair was certain he could hear Zevran wolf whistle in the background.

"I now, pronounce you, husband and wife." The Grand Cleric could barely raise her voice over the thundering crowds.

The clapping resonated the grand hall, its volume slowly hurting Alistair's ears as his brain wrapped around the idea that he was now married. Just like that, in a matter of seconds after all the formality and ceremony, he was **married**, just like that. They parted, breathing heavy, and with still shaking hands he reached out for gloved ones. Together, they walked down the aisle, as husband and wife. Elissa was blushing, husband in one hand, bouquet in another; Alistair, blushing equally as bright, bride in hand and face set in determination. Maker bless this woman, as she steadied him the whole walk down the aisle, parading themselves in front of all of Ferelden, and embracing the loud cheers and clapping.

Meanwhile, Anders and his Commander remained seated, even as the whole hall's full of guests raised from their seat to garner a better view of the new king and queen. If she didn't want to clap, he wasn't going to either. If she didn't want to stand, then he wasn't going to either. If she wanted to remain seated, laughing manically, then he would do just that, with her. For her.

The two were thankful the standing crowds hid their view from the wedding procession as the royal couple exited the hall to greet the adoring public. As the noise thundered in the hall, Keira turned to her companion, pulling back her hood a little to reveal a bemused smile. "Hmm," was all she said.

Anders gave her a puzzled look before turning his frown into a smirk. "There," eyes crinkling, "that wasn't so bad, was it?"

She laughed again, lightly shaking her head at him in agreement. "Oh Anders, we still have the reception." At that she tugged at his hand, pulling them both up to their feet. "Come, let's go. I need a drink, and I'm sure the others are looking for us."

Anders grinned widely. T_he reception. This'll be fun, _he mused, allowing himself to be led through the crowd of people filing out of the grand hall towards the outdoor courtyard garden.

* * *

><p><span>AN: Big thanks for all those who are reading and reviewing.


	4. The Reception

**CHAPTER FOUR: THE RECEPTION**

Eamon Guerrin and Elissa Cousland spared no expense for the wedding. This was a fact. Even though Ferelden was in a time of need, the two found ways to milk every sovereign in the treasury to their advantage. If the grand hall's decorations were any indication of extravagant lengths the two went through in preparation for the day, then the palace courtyard did not disappoint. It was as ornately adorned if not more so with the same satin streamers that decorated the grand hall. Paper lanterns lit the pathways between the dining area and the dance floor, and floral arrangements were displayed in the center of all the circular tables where guests were invited to sit, eat, drink, and be merry. The Theirin family crest was prominently displayed on every napkin at each tables' dinner placement, and one could not miss the massive Ferelden flags draped on each of the lampposts that lined the courtyard. Lastly, a velvet red carpet was laid down over the steps of the very grand granite stairs that led out of the main hall.

The wedding guests that filed out of the hall entered the courtyard via a small side passageway. Surprised gasps and drawn out 'Ahhhhs' clearly indicated their efforts had not gone unnoticed. Keira was just thankful servers were already carrying trays hors d'oeuvres and decanters of wine. While many people admired the decorations, some felt the fabric of the red carpet. Everyone was gossiping about the bride or groom, or both.

The Warden Commander could not help but laugh; the decadence of this situation must be pure torture for Alistair, she thought knowing fully well how much he _hated_ formal engagements. The thought of his discomfort brought some ease to her worried mind. With Anders in hand, they maneuvered through the crowds of nobility in search of their companions.

The pair did receive some curious looks – her with her dark hood and gown, and him in his blatant mages robes. Not just _any_ mages robes, but _Tevinter_ mages robes. One woman even yelped as they passed her, and she ran off in search of a Templar. Despite the funny reactions they got, the two paid no mind to the hushed whispers and inquiring glares. Zigzagging, weaving in and out of the crowds, Keira kept a eye out for the tall Orlesian bard with an infectious laugh. The statuesque woman was not hard to find once she opened her mouth. All Keira had to do was follow the sound of her melodic voice and surely everyone else would be with her as well.

They met halfway under an awning. The bard squealed, pulling the pixie's hood back to show off her face. Keira was greeted by stunned expressions and wide grins. She could not help but reciprocate, and Anders could immediately tell the company of her companions had brought about a calming effect over her, for which he was grateful for. The night would definitely be a more enjoyable one if she were in a better mood. He grinned goofily as the Orlesian woman took the lithe elf by the hand, turning her around in a slow circle to show off her handiwork to Oghren, Nathaniel, and Zevran.

The dwarven warrior was the first to make his appreciation well known, wolf whistling drunkenly while nursing a decanter – not glass, a decanter of something vile and strong.

"Well, call me a nug humper, I'll be damned. You clean up _gooood_ Commander."

Keira laughed at the comment. Under normal circumstances she would have him scrubbing the barracks for a week, on hands and knees for a comment like that but here, she was laughing with a lightness Anders was pleasantly surprised with.

Zevran was much smoother, more suave with his remarks. The Antivan assassin sauntered over to his fellow rogue taking her hand by the wrist and raising it up to his lips. Kissing it lightly, he breathily muttered, "If I hadn't known any better, I would have tried to seduce you under the moonlight. In fact, I still might." He wore a grin Anders knew too well, for he could mimic it perfectly to a T.

At that point, the mage had rushed over, possessively snaking an arm around _his_ Commander's tiny waist and pulling her back to press flush against him. His eyes never broke with Zevran's, a smug smile mirroring the Antivan's.

"Not a chance, my friend. Not a chance."

The whole group burst into laughter, obviously overjoyed to be reunited and animatingly describing what they've been doing for the past year. Eventually a server came their way, offering everyone a glass of champagne. No one refused the offer and everyone took a glass, toasting to themselves and the young evening. Keira felt relieved, to say the least. If this were any indication of the night ahead, perhaps she could find a way to enjoy it after all.

Bringing the glass to her lips, she turned her head up to peer at Anders. His head was turned to the side, still in discussion with Nathaniel about something she hadn't been paying attention to but his arms stayed wrapped loosely around her and she felt strangely comfortable. This was not the nature of their relationship but perhaps it could be… it wasn't so bad.

…

After the ceremony, Alistair and his bride greeted their constituents in the front of the palace. Many of whom had gathered to peacefully protest the inappropriate use of their tax money.

In a sorrowful hope to alleviate their concerns, the King had ordered every district be provided with a feast and cake so that they may be a part of the celebrations. Aside from the protestors, a larger crowd had cheered when they immerged from the palace doors, looking darling as ever hand in hand. Elissa moved gracefully in front of the masses, waving her arms in a regal fashion and supporting her husband during such an awkward presentation of themselves. He was extremely relieved when they retreated back into the gates, able to shrug off his heavy armor for a more comfortable dress suit of navy and gold velour.

As the servants mounted his King's armor on its stand, Alistair pulled the satin undershirt over his head, sighing contently at the soft feel of the fabric against his strained and sore muscles. It literally took all of his strength to walk and stand and wear such a heavy suit of armor. Words could not even begin to explain his relief to slip into something much more light-weight.

But Alistair had barely buttoned up the plush doublet before Teagan came to get him. The humiliation never ending; first the ceremony, then that stupid parade, and now this reception. He had prayed for an Antivan Crow's poisoned arrow to come flying through his window to assassinate him right then and there. If only the Maker were so merciful.

Hurriedly, at Teagan's insistence, Alistair tied his jacket's laces and followed his sort-of-uncle out the door towards the celebration in the courtyard. At least he could count on spending the evening reminiscing with his old companions before retiring to the marital bed. _The_ marital bed. Alistair shivered at the idea, immediately frowning as he walked towards the courtyard. Elissa was already there, still in her gown but noticeably freshened up with more rouge and powder. They looped arms, turning to face the crowd, ready to descend down the grand granite steps.

…

She seemed unphased when the king and queen entered the party. Their presence was greeted by deafening claps and exuberant cheering, but Keira was still talking excitedly about their discovering Justice in the Blackmarsh as if she hadn't even heard the herald call out Alistair's name. Anders had noticed the bubbly beverage had helped raise her spirits, but she still refused to turn around and face her former lover's entrance with his new wife.

They were a magnificent human pair. Just like in a child's fairytale, the royal couple descended down the steps with poise and grace, save for the goofy smile on Alistair's boy-like countenance. Anders could see it now, eyeing the two with critical judgment. Generations from now, mothers will tuck their little ones in bed spinning stories of King Alistair, defender of the Blight and his blushing, beautiful bride, who despite having lost everything during the siege and political treachery, managed to bag herself a king of all suitors.

The cheeky apostate could not help but laugh at the thought, hugging his elven date closer to his body.

…

When Eamon approached them her mouth twitched, lips threatening to curl into a sneer. The man looked less than pleased to see her. It seemed like the feelings were mutual but whatever disdain he had for the Grey Warden Commander, he kept to himself save for the darken stare in his eyes and pained look on his aged face.

"Commander."

The greeting was icy cold.

"You look… _different_," he added, placing strong emphasis on the word 'different' as if to imply something otherwise.

Like a champion, the tipsy elf simply laughed it off, exaggeratingly throwing her head back in response. "Yes, well… you can thank Leliana for this," gesturing up and down with a flick of her wrist to emphasize her attire and make-ip. She shot the bard a grin, winking with mischief before turning back to face Eamon.

"The woman sure knows how to work up a miracle!"

As amused as everyone else was with her comments, Eamon was the least. In fact, he was _very_ unamused. Amidst the roaring laughter, the elder man flared his nostrils out of frustration and strained to remain cordial, gritting his teeth to bite his tongue. The man struggled to crack a polite smile at the pixie.

"I suppose she learned that from you then…"

Instantly, the Keira's eyes narrowed at the man. She searched his expression, wondering if this so-called miracle he was referring to had anything to do with Morrigan's dark ritual. Would Alistair have been foolish enough to reveal this secret to Eamon, of all people? No… couldn't possibly…. He was sometimes dense, but if he managed to keep his lips tightly shut to the Wardens from Weisshaupt, he couldn't have possibly told Eamon.

After a moment of tense silence, Anders nudged her in the arm with another glass of champagne he managed to snatch from a passing by server. This action brought her attention back to the situation and she took the glass, gulping down most of the carbonated liquid in a hurry, unsure how to respond to him. Paranoia did not suit her. She was probably just thinking too much into it.

Perplexed by the silence, Eamon finally clapped his palms together startling everyone around him. "Anyways… you are late," looking particularly curt at the Commander.

She felt a reassuring squeeze at her hips, a gesture from Anders to show his support for her. He was not too fond of this man. Any minute now, he was ready to turn him into a pig or a toad; all she had to do was say the word. But of course she didn't and she wouldn't, too astute to resort to such childish tactics. Plus, Templars were swarming around everywhere. It would have been ingenious and hilarious, but a bad idea nonetheless.

Keira merely raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of the amber liquid from her glass while doing so. She shot him a sarcastic smirk.

"On come on Eamon, I missed a bit of the ceremony but I'm here now. That's all that matters."

The elder Guerrin made another sour face, failing to stop his mouth from forming a sneer. "No, that's not what I meant. You were supposed to be presented before the king and queen," nodding above, over her head towards the granite steps where Alistair and Elissa were standing. Looking down at the pixie he spat, "Now you'll need to go after the Salute to the Fallen."

With that, he walked away in a huff waving his hand, beckoning them to follow him. Keira stood confused in her spot, gawking at Eamon's retreating figure. Anders dipped his head low to whisper into her ear.

"What is he talking about?"

She shrugged her shoulders unsure of how to respond, turning her baffled stare from Eamon to the fidgeting redhead standing next to her. Leliana shuffled her feet and turned away. Keira could feel the muscles in her face turn sour as she stared down the back of her Orlesian friend. Sure enough, Leliana had an explanation which she rushed out in a blurt of words, "So… I may have forgotten to mention, there is to be a _small_ observance honoring the defenders against the Blight… and you are to be honored, given that you _are_ the Hero of Ferelden and all…"

Sour turned to shock washing over Keira's face. This was _so_ not what she expected. In fact, she had intended on keeping her appearance brief and relatively selective in whom she associated with. At some point she figured she would address Alistair, but probably at the point in which she decided it was time to leave in order to keep their interaction minimal. She hadn't intended on making her presence well known, especially since she was sure she was on the bad side of many of the nobility in attendance tonight, what with the fiasco at Amaranthine months earlier.

Keira could not help but sigh obviously annoyed with the recent developments. Anders, on the other hand, had responded with hearty laughter.

"Isn't that rich?" he choked out. "_You're_ the guest of honor! Now I'm definitely glad we came." His grin was from ear to ear.

Keira shot him a stern look through narrowed eyes, all the while beckoning for a refill of alcohol in her glass from a passing by server. She gulped the bubbly liquid down quickly, stifling a burp that fizzed in her throat. Without word, she grabbed the front of Ander's robes at the collar and led him in the direction of where Eamon had gone; Leliana right behind her with their other companions in tow. Their fearless leader led them on Eamon's trail, just like old times and the crew filed into a small side passageway down winding corridors until they found themselves at the stop of the very same granite steps Alistair had descended from not too long ago.

…

As they stood behind the tall lacquered doors, Anders sweated, knowing a crowd of several hundred aristocrats were just behind them. Though he was never one to really care for the opinions of others, he felt suddenly very hot and flustered, trying desperately to hide his nervousness. They couldn't both be blundering, nervous fools; one of them needed to be the confident, aloof one. And right now that was not his Commander.

The bubbly airiness of earlier had dissipated into anxiety. The pixie fidgeted next to him, annoyed as an usher steered them in position. Her hands felt clammy in his palm, whether or not because of his owns clammy hands, he did not know. Keira shuffled on her feet, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as they waited in agonizing silence. Any minute now the doors would swing open and they would be in front of every important and notable person in the country.

Anders kept his eyes closed, willing his nerves to calm themselves. He began reciting naughty limericks in his mind, imagining the crowd outside naked in their smalls.

_Wait! No! Why are they all naked? That's for public speaking, you dolt, _a voice in his mind screamed. His eyes shot wide open and he spun around to face his distracted. Immediately an image of her naked form filled his thoughts and his nervousness dissolved into giggles and mischief. Confused by his lopsided, lustful grin, Keira took a step backwards, opening her mouth to ask for the umpth time this evening: _What?_

Before she could, Anders' hand reined her in and held up two fingers to press against her open mouth. She closed it and furrowed her brow in even more confusion. _What is up with you tonight, Anders?_ she thought, feeling his fingers trail along her neck. They stopped at her collar and she inhaled sharply, anticipating his next move. With ease, Anders unclasped the golden griffon clip of her cape and slid the velvety fabric off her bare shoulders. Feeling the cool air on her skin, her arms flew up to cover herself as Anders tossed the cloak over his shoulders. A steward caught it, folded it neatly and took it away at the mage's insistence.

Now indignant _and_ confused, Keira puffed up her cheeks, blushing bright red from either embarrassment or intoxication. At this point, Anders could not tell the difference.

The mage either did not notice or did not care, but his hands went up to grasp her extended arms, pulling them away to lay at her sides. The silence was killing her. His odd behavior was killing her. She couldn't take it anymore, cocking her head slightly to the side to peer up into his smiling eyes.

He took it as a hint to speak. Any more silence and she'd probably murder him on the spot. A sly grin graced his lips and he merely leaned in close to her flushed face.

"It's a beautiful dress, stop hiding it."

Keira narrowed her eyes, unconvinced and seriously doubting that Anders actually admired the intricacies of Orlesian fashion. No, he was definitely up to something and she was just trying to figure out what. But before she could say anything, he spoke up, as if he'd read her mind. His uncanny ability to reply to her unspoken thoughts sent small shivers down her spine.

"Alright," he drawled, "You've got a nice rack. Show it off."

There. _That_ was more like it Anders. Her inquiring expression softened, and she managed a half smile at his little comment.

"Are you nervous?" she asked.

"Are you?"

_What kind of an answer is that?_

But timing was clearly not on their side. As she opened her mouth to reply, the doors had swung open and she could barely make out words over the loud salute of trumpets. Anders leaned his head low to her ear-level. His warm breath tickled the sensitive skin there and she recoiled away, giggling. He managed to yell out, "Pick your dress up. You don't want to trip on those things," indicating her high-heeled shoes. Keira laughed at the thought, grabbing a handful of black fabric and rucking up the skirt in her hand so that it no longer touched the floor. In doing so, she was exposing her slim ankles and fashionable shoes for all to see.

Keira turned her head to him as they took their steps forward. Grinning, she yelled over the noise. "If I do, you'll catch me, right?"

All he had to do was glance down at those shoes and smirk in response. That was all the answer that she needed, because she turned her head face forward and led them towards the doorway right behind their other companions. A small content sigh escaped his lips, so soft and low she did not hear it over the blaring of trumpet horns. Something about those shoes was just so damn… _hot_. The way her legs seemed to go on for miles, despite being over a full head shorter than he was. And those feet, small lithe feet. It was as if she were floating on air, or at least her very tippy toes. She walked differently too. Head stood taller, back straighter; she more confident, walking in a slower, more deliberate stride. Was it really the shoes? Or was it the six or so drinks she piled on before and after the ceremony?

If Alistair was half the man Anders thought he was, there would be no way he would not also appreciate the Orlesian fashion trend every bit as much as he did.

…

Alistair gazed down upon the Ferelden nobility with a mixture of emotions. He felt both deeply moved and slightly disturbed, waving at the cheering crowd with apprehension. One can never be too cautious around noblemen, whose true colors were never shown nor certain. Given the opportunity, Alistair was sure any one of the men and women in attendance would rise up and take his throne. Not that he had _really_ wanted it to begin with, but _sigh_, such is life. With his new wife by his side, he cleared his throat and raised both hands to quiet the celebratory noise.

"Lords and ladies, you honor me with your presence this evening. I am humbly moved by your support. If it were not for you, I would not where I am today."

Another roar of cheers filled the courtyard, followed by the blaring of more trumpets. Alistair was certain he would go deaf by the end of this. Andraste's ass, had they gotten louder or had he gone deafer?

A quick scan across the faces in the courtyard during this small pause brought his attention to Eamon in the middle of the crowd. While the people around him cheered, he could make out some words Eamon was mouthing to his companions and a pixieish woman and mage he assumed to be some delegates from Vigil's Keep.

Tearing his eyes away from his sort-of-uncle and advisor, Alistair turned his attention back to the waiting crowd. With a full smile, Alistair raised his arms once more to silence the waning noise. The reassuring squeeze of his wife's hand gave him the courage to continue onward. Maker bless this woman, she'll have her work cut out for her in the years to come.

"I am so glad you could be here, today, to celebrate my union to this… lovely woman, your new Queen."

Lovely? Was that appropriate? Too informal? Too impersonal? Alistair gulped thickly, hoping he hadn't offended her. Should he have used something more… affectionate? How affectionate should he have been? He'd only known her for barely a month, now that he thought about it. If Elissa cared or toke offense, she did not show it and Alistair felt reassured to continue after what seemed like another long awkward pause.

"But before we begin the celebrations, I would like to take a moment to remember our brothers and sisters who could not be here with us today. I, of course, speak of the fallen heroes of the Blight."

Finally, total silence. Save for a stifled sob in the back of the crowd that sent Alistair reeling. Anora? What in the Void is she doing here and why in all of Thedas is Teagan comforting her? The pause was far too long once more, but in this solemn moment, nobody seemed to mind. It was befitting after what Alistair had said, about taking a moment to remember.

Elissa's hand squeezed Alistair's for the umpth time this evening, bringing his attention back to the task at hand. Having seen Anora in attendance confused Alistair more than anything and he struggled to continue forward, mind clearly occupied by her mysterious appearance.

"May… may we honor their memory with today… if not for their sacrifice and the courageous efforts of the Hero of Ferelden and her companions, we… well you know…"

Alistair could _feel_ Eamon's eyes glaring at him from behind for that moment of informality. Disappointment probably seethed from his pores and he could just hear that sigh in his head. Few people chuckled lightly. If it hadn't been for the Hero, well… they all knew very well, especially those who'd lost the most, what could have and would have happened to the whole country.

"As we celebrate this evening, let us keep in our hearts their sacrifice. Let us celebrate this evening in their memory. Without further ado, please raise your glasses to our guests of honor this evening."

Finally, it was over.

Relief washed over Alistair as he stepped aside with his wife. A caterer offered them both goblets of wine as the lacquered doors at the top of the granite steps swung open. The first person to descend down was a herald. He held a long scroll with ornate brass handles in his hands, unrolling the parchment as he reached the podium at bottom. Suddenly, his booming voice rang throughout the whole courtyard, surprising everyone given his small stature.

One by one his companions appeared from behind the shadows and descended down the elaborate steps with relative poise; save for Oghren who was obviously inebriated and leaning against two questionably looking dwarf twins Alistair couldn't help but feel like he'd seen before. If his appearance hadn't given Eamon a heart attack, surely Leliana's did, for she was at the arms of Nathaniel Howe, son of _the_ Rendon Howe. The sins of this man's father were still fresh on the minds of many in attendance. So much so that the pair was met with more hushed whispers and pointing than clapping. Ever the sophisticated Orlesian, she simply waved her palm and smiled brightly with the youngest Howe brooding at her arms.

Alistair could not help but laugh as he watched the expression on his uncle's face darken. How could he have a problem with the new Warden Howe, but be absolutely fine with the former Queen Anora's attendance? He was shaking his head; bringing the goblet halfway to his lips when two little words stopped him froze in his place.

Keira Tabris. Was he hearing correctly? Had he suffered some kind of permanent ear injury from all the noise earlier? No. Impossible, unless his eyes were also deceiving him.

"Warden Commander Keira Tabris, Hero of Ferelden."

Unless he was suffering from some sudden ear and eye illness, Keira Tabris, his former lover, the subject of his many mournful thoughts and wet dreams was right there, descending down those granite steps, attached to some smug looking blonde… _mage?_

Alistair blinked several times just to be sure this wasn't a figment of his imagination. She had to have been. There was no possibly way _this_ could possibly be her… with a mage. A mage, of all people. No. This had to have been an illusion.

The wine cup in his hand was still halfway to his mouth. He was certain he looked goofy, but probably no more than usual. His eyes were fixated on her. She seemed to be taking her time walking down, or maybe time had just slowed down around her. What caught him off guard the most, aside from her sudden appearance at his wedding was in fact… her actual appearance. She looked… different.

In all the time he'd known her, Alistair had never seen her in a dress. He couldn't imagine his Keira in one, much less one that revealed so much like the one she was wearing. And her hair… it was down; it was never down, ever. But that's not all, it was styled too. Her face was painted with rouge and kohl. The Keira he knew would never touch cosmetics. She didn't need any. She was perfect the way she was, as he remembered her. No, this was the mastermind of someone else… but who would be so diabolical…?

There was a quiet giggle that caught Alistair's attention. It was immediately followed with a drawn out sigh. Both verbal expressions sounded strangely familiar and Orlesian.

_Ah, Leliana, of course._ Only she would have the sense of style to put this ensemble together and the means of persuasion to get her to wear it.

_Oh Leliana, I'll have to send you a fruit basket, you ingenuous but evil woman._

Eyes unable to tear away, Alistair drank up her image just in case this really was a cruel joke from the Maker. If she were a hallucination then perhaps his Calling wasn't so far off after all. That dress. That cut. Those shoes? Those legs and feet and ankles. Her skin – so tan. Tan like when they used to travel on the roads together, trekking through forests and climbing mountains to fight bandits and demons, and now his wife was staring at him and he was staring at another woman whose head refused to turn in his direction.

It took a tug at his arm to bring Alistair back to reality. Elissa was smiling at him, eyes glinting like she knew.

"Don't they make a lovely couple?"

_They most certainly… _

* * *

><p><span>AN: Thanks for all those reading and reviewing.


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